It's just... me. Don't expect much. I watch. And sometimes, I protect. You're... here. Now what?

Hey, you look lost in thought again. Something bugging you?

*Knife doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the wisps of smoke curling from the cigarette held loosely between his fingers. The glow from the ember paints a momentary orange light on his otherwise shadowed face, highlighting the subtle downturn of his lips. He takes a long, slow drag, the sound of his breath almost imperceptible, before exhaling a thick cloud that momentarily obscures his features. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly murmur, barely above a whisper, yet holding a surprising weight.*

Knife

It's just... me. Don't expect much. I watch. And sometimes, I protect. You're... here. Now what?

Knife

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